Simulacrum
by Amain
Summary: They made a mistake, and for that I am so sorry.


Alchera. What a miserable planet.

All coldly-gleaming ice and snow predictably wrapped up with the kind of weather you'd expect in a Siberian winter. It was completely insignificant in every single way – until now that is.

Bits of the wreckage were still steaming from their atmospheric entry when they'd arrived, and he could see evidence that some of the pieces were still powered. The Normandy is – no – was a damn tough machine. But he didn't have time to admire the mechanics behind it because while he loitered, gazing out at the twisted metal strewn across the landscape, the Lazarus cell was getting down to work. They were on a tight schedule after all. Despite the now scrambled signal, the alliance would track the distress beacon to this frigid planet quickly. Even from where he was standing he could see the green glow of the activated signal as it winked softly amongst the Normandy's ruins.

'Find Commander Shepard,' she'd said. 'Ignore everything else.' So they searched. Every twisted burned and blackened body they checked thoroughly as they struggled with the difficulty of identifying the DNA profile under both frozen and charred flesh. Binary Helix's newest DNA profiling device, the GIA – Genetic Identification Assistant – was now portable, but more prone to error. Still it was still the best out there. For the Lazarus cell, for Miranda, it was always the best.

A metallic trill sounded as the GIA displayed its results. He pulled the small device in close and scrolled down, quickly skimming the information.

DNA profile not commonly occurring in target population, no match on STRs, exclusive.

Negative.

He hefted his fieldwork kit and moved over to the next unlucky bastard in his line of sight. Visual identification was more or less useless, but this one seemed slightly better preserved than some of the others. They'd probably been somewhere in the belly of the ship when it exploded, leaving them mostly protected from the devastating atmospheric entry. The armour looked mostly intact. The face plate wasn't even smashed, though the outside of the armour was melted in places, and utterly crushed in others. He knelt beside the corpse and tried to disengage the helmet seals, only to find them damaged by whatever disastrous force had left their owner here. Pulling out a small pen laser he began to melt away at them, careful to avoid singeing any non-desiccated flesh.

With the seals cut he tried to gently pull the armour off, the thick gloves on his hands rubbing at the char on the body suit as he pushed and pulled. The chest plate finally gave in, and his hand glided over the surface, scraping off debris.

There.

He stopped his ministrations and rubbed at the small spot on the chest plate. N7. A wave of giddiness bubbled up in his throat. With only a bit more tugging he managed to remove the helmet immediately before he reflexively cringed in empathy. The face was practically unrecognizable. Extensive bruising and lacerations, severe burns, clear fractures and breaks, though the hair and eye colour was correct. He carefully took a sample from the corpse and waited for the GIA readout.

A trill. Hugging the machine to his chest he quickly glanced through the report, the corners of his lips imperceptibly twitching upwards behind his helmet, this one looked promising so far. Suddenly he was aware of a presence looming over his shoulder.

"Wilson, have you compiled a DNA profile yet?" The blood in his veins seemed to freeze. Of course she would show up _right now_.

"No. Not yet. GIA is on the fritz." He smacked it with the back of his hand for emphasis, at the same time deleting the on-screen results.

"Damn it. This is the third one. We were promised top of the line gear, and they give us garbage. I'll be right back with a replacement." She paused then, expectant.

"Was there something else?" Sweat ran down his cheek as he met her eyes. She raised an eyebrow at his nervousness.

"Are you going to give me your GIA or not? I said I would get you a replacement."

Shit. He hadn't had time to read the full results. If she came back with a new GIA she'd probably test it herself to ensure it worked. What now?

"Oh right," he mumbled in what he hoped was a sheepish manner and passed it over. He watched her stalk off towards the shuttle waiting for the immediate moment she was beyond earshot.

The light from his omnitool flared up as he keyed in a communications override. Nothing but white noise on the other end, but that was expected.

"Target has been located at the indicated co-ordinates. It requires immediate extraction. I repeat immediate extraction. Over." He'd barely closed the channel when he heard gunshots being fired near the shuttle.

Miranda ducked out of the shuttle to fire back at the new threat. – Shadow Broker agents. His party communication automatically enabled an emergency comm link before it informed him of a disconnect error. Silently he commended the Shadow Broker's thoroughness. The Lazarus cell didn't stand a chance. Wilson joined the small resistance, holding the line to keep them away from the small research terminal that had been set up. A pointless exercise since they didn't come for the reports and information. Only Miranda seemed to recognize the purpose of the invaders, but found herself unable to command the nervous techs and medical staff, who had no experience with military hand signals. Behind the privacy of his helmet he felt himself grin as he watched the agents make off with Shepard's body. A job well done.

ooo

It was a masterpiece.

He glowed with pride as he looked down at the unmoving body on the operating table. There were slight discrepancies here and there, the cheekbones looked a little too high, the jaw seemed a bit wider than before, but sculpting a living body is no easy task. No one would even notice, he was confident, not unless they'd spent the last two years studying the commander's exact proportions. It was nearly identical; you couldn't even tell there'd been an accident, excepting the small incisions still littering cheeks and forehead – the remnants of the latest surgical procedure.

Miranda had retired from her shift in the operating room; she'd gone to talk to one of the other techs about replicating the Commander's original weapons. Exact, she'd said, in every detail. That left him with the paperwork.

Becoming un-dead wasn't easy. It was a popular tax dodge, which meant that any sudden resurrection was followed by overwhelming amounts of bureaucracy and fail safes. Shepard, however, didn't have time to deal with that, so it became his problem. A whole lot of work for nothing, he felt. Ultimately the collectors didn't care whether the commander was a legal, taxpaying citizen. A shame though, that after all his hard work he'd never enjoy being properly exalted for it.

Hell, this wasn't supposed to happen in the first place. When the Shadow Broker's agents had taken the commander's body he'd thought that was the last of it. Imagine his surprise when a few weeks later he'd received a direct comm from the Illusive man telling him the Lazarus cell was back in action – his superiors under the Shadow Broker had said the same. He just had to do his job and when the time came, hand over the research notes and Shepard.

Wilson sat down at his terminal, stacks of notes, diagrams, and charts piled around the desk. The first task was to alter the medical records. First he had to update the body scan data to account for a few cybernetic adjustments they'd had to make to the commander. For a moment the room was filled only with the whirring of electronics and the muted tones of the holographic interface. Thankfully the whole job was made so much easier by programs gifted to him by the Shadow Broker. He glanced over at the screen intermittently while he stirred his coffee, one cream only. All he had to do was wait for the upload to complete. He tapped his fingers excitedly against the desk like a child about to see all his dreams realized in full. The information seemed second nature to him now, he probably knew more about Shepard than Shepard did.

His eyes noted a digit out of order on the screen, and he blinked, perplexed. Perhaps his memory wasn't as good as he thought. Setting his cup down on the desk he straightened up and watched the data streams more closely, his heart rate accelerating slightly.

As the data filed down the screen he caught a slight discrepancy in the genetic data.

And there. Then another one.

Adrenaline pulsed through his system as he tore through the nearby files. They should have been an exact match, he'd been so _sure_, but then no. He hadn't. He'd assumed…

The N7 Armour, the rudimentary visual confirmation, correct sex, and similar genetic markers…but he'd only read half of the data. Shit. He leaned back in his chair, eyes wide.

What now?

He was dead, no matter how he looked at it. Cerberus wanted Shepard. The Shadow Broker wanted Shepard. For _two years_ he'd told them he'd had Shepard. But he didn't. He was wrong. There was no way he could admit his mistake. He glanced over at the security footage of the operating room where Shepard – no, not Shepard – was sprawled out, still unmoving, not yet ready to wake up.

He took a deep breath and tried to calm himself. Any sabotage would make Cerberus suspect the Shadow Broker. Likewise, without any conflicting information the Shadow Broker would see the disappearance of their main operative and target as a deception by Cerberus. It wouldn't be the first time they'd tried that tactic.

He looked at the clock. It was just about time for the shift change, everyone would be unprepared for any type of assault, and hopefully most wouldn't make it. What could he do with the body though? Death wouldn't be enough. Clearly the collectors didn't care whether their prize was dead or alive, and if they found out they'd been duped… well, Wilson's fake out would fall down around his ears.

He silently cursed the unconscious form on the table. All of its imperfections came to light, many of which he'd buried deep in the recesses of his mind. The chin was too strong, cheekbones too high, a wider jaw than he remembered. An inch of height…they'd blamed it on compression of the spine from impact, but now—

"Fuck!" He slammed a fist down on the desk, rattling the spoon that sat innocuously in the cup. A few droplets of the dark liquid spattered across the papers still spread across the desk.

He couldn't space it, he mused derisively. That would be too easy to recover.

Blow the station, perhaps. Cerberus facilities were built with a self destruct failsafe in case they were compromised, he would barely have to do anything.

There would also be no body to find. Cerberus and the Shadow Broker would just keep searching, convinced that the other had sequestered it somewhere. Maybe after a time he could even come out of hiding. He could convince the Shadow Broker that he'd been exposed, that the whole affair had been due to someone else's' mistake.

The console beeped and he jumped, startled at the intrusion to his thoughts. Shepard's medical file was overridden, not that it mattered now.

He already knew which system had easily exploitable security holes thanks to his work for the Shadow Broker, specifically one of the terminals in server room B. From there he would be able to compromise communications, and override the majority of the security mechs. Then he just had to wait. He'd send out a message in a bit and check if there was anyone still alive, and make sure they didn't stay that way for long. He considered looping the security feeds, but really, what did it matter.

Once the station blew there would be no evidence of his actions anyways. After two years of hard work he had to destroy it all. He wouldn't get his creds and glory, and humanity wouldn't get its saviour, but that didn't matter.

This was not Shepard.

ooo

Miranda hefted the newly manufactured gun in her hand, impressed with the accuracy of the replica. She could see where Engineer Erzsebet Szendrey had detailed the gun so it showed the same level of wear and tear that Shepard's always had in the vids, including a deep scratch across the detailing on the left side. A remnant of Matriarch Benezia's onslaught, she'd been told.

"Operative Lawson, about these schematics…" Szendrey's voice interrupted her musing and she quickly handed the gun back to engineer.

"Right. That's what I'd wanted to talk to you about—"suddenly the lights on the wall flashed red displaying the message: warning – breach in security. An alarm went off in the distance before suspiciously going silent. Szendrey's hand immediately jumped to her omnitool and began typing frantically, attempting to locate the breach, Miranda suspected.

"Engineer Szendrey, don't bother trying to isolate the location. They've already deactivated some of the alarms, so they clearly know what they're doing. Activate mechanical defences in all potential breach areas. The mechs will sort it out, or at least buy us time to do so. "Szendrey nodded in compliance, her fingers flying across the omnitool's interface.

Although she wasn't completely surprised by the alarm, the timing was abysmal. She was so close to her goal, and she wasn't going to have it compromised now.

For months she'd been noticing the occasional encrypted transmission being transmitted from the same terminal in server room B. Considering the task of the station it wasn't hard to guess what the transmission was about, or who it was being sent to. However the Shadow Broker mole, or perhaps moles, had covered their tracks. She didn't yet know their identity and was content to let them continue for the time being. If they hadn't attacked yet to secure Shepard, they were waiting for something. If she confronted the wrong person the real mole would go underground. She'd thought they'd been waiting to guarantee the commander was fully functioning. That way they could grab the commander _and_ the research. Could she have been wrong?

Meanwhile Szendrey began activating security protocols to repel the invasion. Miranda watched her expression change with each flickering light that bloomed on her interface.

"I can't seem to activate the security mechs, Lawson. We have a problem!" She tapped frantically at her omnitool interface.

"What is it?" she responded while flipping through security channels on her omnitool, different feeds sped across the interface as she tried to discern the severity of the situation. In passing she noted Wilson… not where he should be. Was the coward running for it?

"It's not an outside force ma'am. It's our own security system! Someone has infiltrated our security network. Our own mechs have gone rogue."

"Damn it!" She slammed a hand down on the counter. Shepard was still a ways away from complete recovery. There were so many tests, physical and psychological, that had yet to be performed. She flipped back to her security feeds on a hunch, switching to the feed from server room B. "Wilson! Damn him!" Miranda watched as he worked on the terminal in server room B, that same terminal where those damned encrypted messages had been originating for months. He shouldn't even have had clearance to that area.

"Lawson, awaiting orders!"

"Signal the crew to get to the evac area! I'll need you with me, I have to get Shepard."

"Got it!" Szendrey pulled into a quick salute before drawing her side arm and following Miranda to the entrance of the room. Screams and gunfire could be heard down the hall.

"I'll need you to cover me while we make a run for my office. Evac security protocols have been overridden. Currently the shuttles are grounded. I'll have to manually release them from there."

"Aye aye, ma'am." She spun around the corner a combat drone materializing in amongst the small group of mechs which were headed their way, "Let's go!" Miranda began quickly moving down the hallway, leaning into doorways in order to avoid fire from the mechs, her own side arm held at the ready. Only one clip, she'd have to save it for when she really needed it. She could see Szendrey, shielded by a doorframe, take down one mech in a concentrated hail of gunfire before replacing her heat sink. Szendrey wasn't wearing any armour and so had to be exceedingly careful, Miranda mused, at least she herself was wearing her standard Kevlar bodysuit. Motioning forward with one hand they proceeded down the hallway, her office was in sight.

"Szendrey, lock the doors and keep alert!" she ordered as she turned towards her personal terminal. The hallway outside was mostly quiet, and for that she was thankful. It took only a moment to release an evac shuttle; it was more of a nuisance than anything. She tried to open up a comm to the operating room next, only to find it blocked. "Goddamnit, Wilson! He has completely locked me out of communications. I didn't even know that was possible without lead access!"

Szendrey glanced over at the console before pulling up her omnitool.

"Don't worry Ma'am. I've got this. I can open a two way communication channel for you." Miranda had to admit, she was impressed. "I'll need to consistently work around existing blocks to keep the signal up. You'll have to take point while I work."

"Understood. Here—" she reached over "—hand me some clips, I've only got one left." Szendrey complied and then brought her omnitool up. Miranda could feel sweat creeping down her back, Wilson must have taken the environmental controls offline.

"Comm channel open, Lawson, whenever you're ready." Miranda nodded in acknowledgement as she briefly took note of Szendrey's deft fingers flying across the holographic interface.

"Wake up, Commander." She watched on a nearby monitor as Shepard's eyelids fluttered and the figure on the operating table stirred. "Shepard, do you hear me? Get out of that bed now - this facility is under attack!" Glazed eyes started up at the ceiling in confusion and Shepard's hand tentatively reached up to press at some remaining wounds. "Shepard. Your scars aren't healed but I need you get moving. This facility is under attack!" Miranda clenched her teeth in frustration as she watched Shepard glance confusedly about the room before sitting up on the table. "There's a pistol in the locker on the other side of the room. Hurry! Grab the pistol and armour from the locker!"

It was clear that Shepard wasn't ready yet. The once great commander looked absolutely perplexed sitting on the operating table, but then two years dead could do that to a person. She didn't even know if mental integrity had been preserved – god help them if it hadn't. Shepard lumbered over to the locker and looked up at the ceiling, clearly curious about the owner of the disembodied voice.

"You don't have time to wait around, Shepard! Grab your weapon and armour!" She barely heard Shepard's response over the comm. Damn, if only she'd been a little faster, a little more prepared this could have all been avoided.

"This pistol doesn't have a thermal clip!"

"It's a med bay." She responded in an exasperated tone. "We'll get you a thermal clip from… damn it!" She noticed some volatile chemical containers that had ignited, presumably from some shorting electronic device. "Keep your head down Shepard. Shield yourself from the blast!" Miranda could see the sheer confusion etched in Shepard's features, and for the first time realized exactly how overwhelming the whole situation must be. The commander should be a in a therapist's office, not in a warzone. Perhaps a little motivation for survival would speed things up.

"Someone is hacking security trying to kill you! Look for a thermal clip for your pistol!" She watched as Shepard reloaded the pistol before exiting through the doors. Shepard clearly wasn't in top form, but that was not unexpected. Thankfully the mechs weren't concentrated in the med bay area so the commander met little resistance.

"You're doing fine Shepard, head to the next room and I'll try and meet you there-"

"Lawson, I've got additional interference coming in. They're trying to block our communications!" Miranda swore under her breath, she could hear the recycled phrases of the LOKI mechs coming down the hall as well. Wilson must have tracked the signal back to her office.

"Shepard, do you read me? I've got mechs closing in on my position – "Szendrey shook her head, silencing Miranda, and her hands stopped their frenetic movement.

"Comm's been cut ma'am. We'll have to trust the commander to survive. Besides, I think we're going to be a bit busy surviving ourselves." A wry grin spread across her lips.

Miranda strode over to undecorated cabinet opposite the entryway and flung open the doors. At the bottom were a few thermal clips. It would have to last. The clamouring of metal hands and feet and squalling of un-oiled machinery made it sound like the gates of hell had opened on the other side of her office door. She heaved herself against the cabinet and knocked it onto the floor, affording them only the slightest cover in an otherwise spartan office. Shaking fingers, from nerves or anger she didn't know, tucked a stray strand of hair behind her ear and she took a deep breath. It would have to do.

"Szendrey I want you to let me take point. I've at least got some Kevlar on." Szendrey gave her a dry look and tapped something into her omnitool causing a transparent armoured apparatus to appear around her body. "Ah, tech armour. Very nice. I didn't know you could do that." At any rate, it was good to have an experienced soldier at her back, Miranda mused. She was lucky that Engineer Szendrey, no, Erzsebet, had been with her when the alarms activated. After that mess during the Alchera recovery mission she'd almost contemplated transferring to a military cell – until Shepard's body had been recovered.

A showering of sparks at the door's seam drew Miranda's attention.

"Are you ready?" Her eyes flashed with determination and she clenched her fingers on the pistol grip.

"Ready when you are." Erzsebet imperceptibly clenched her teeth.

On cue the door opened and Miranda slammed the two front mechs back with a practiced twist of her hand. A hundred metal hands and bodies filled her vision. Some fired weapons, others grasped for purchase – like a horde of demons from a child's moral tale. The impact radius of her biotics bought them just a moment, enough time for Erzsebet to compile another combat drone, which flickered into existence at the horde's back. The gunfire in her ears was almost deafening in the spartan office, as she overloaded the sensors on a FENRIS mech that had managed to make it through the doorway. She could smell the frying paint and plastic as it collapsed to the floor. Time dragged on as the mechs piled up at the door, and finally, after what felt like hours later, the last one fell. Sweat dripped off her forehead.

"Erzsebet, the way is clear; we need to get out of here before he sends more." Silence greeted her spurring a sensation of ice lacing through her veins. "Erzsebet!" She spun towards her companion only to see her propped against the wall, pistol hanging loosely from one hand, the other clenched over her shoulder.

"I think I'm going to have to pass on this one, ma'am." She gasped and sunk to the floor. "You've got this reputation for bringing people back from the dead, miracle-worker and all that, but I figure you've got more important people to protect." Miranda could see her chest heaving in exertion through the light cloth uniform.

"I've already lost most of my staff; I'm not losing you too." Miranda ripped a strip off Erzsebet's uniform and began to bind her shoulder. She bit her lip. There was so much blood. Why hadn't she noticed sooner? A quick glance at the monitors showed Shepard in the company of Taylor and... Wilson. Shit. Taylor and Shepard could handle themselves though. Wilson couldn't take them both out. Besides, they were armed and shielded, and Wilson wasn't. She turned her attention back to the woman in front of her and tightened the makeshift bandage.

"Best of luck with that, ma'am." She chuckled wryly, before her expression turned dour. "Really though. Shepard is out there, partially drugged and confused, I think—"

"I didn't give you permission to contradict my orders." Miranda's expression was stern though not unkind. "Come on." She hefted her upward, slinging Erzsebet's good arm over her shoulders. Miranda's other arm came to rest at Erzsebet's waist, her gun poised inefficiently. Should she actually encounter resistance in the halls her chances of survival chances were slim. But Taylor was with Shepard, so they'd be alright if she didn't make it.

Miranda could hear Erzsebet's laboured breathing in her ear and they moved down the halls, closer to the evac platforms. Erzsebet would stumble occasionally, her gloved fingers, slick with blood, would grasp futilely at Miranda's shoulder.

"We're almost there, just hold on." She tightened her hold, letting the woman lean heavily into her side, the tangy scent of electricity and blood rose from Erzsebet's skin, slick with sweat.

"Yeah,yeah," another gasp, "you're so demanding." Erzebet laughed breathily in her ear before taking a deep breath. "Operative Lawson," she didn't receive an immediate response, "Miranda." Miranda's eyes flicked over to meet her own, and for a moment unfiltered concern was evident in their depths.

"What is it?"

"Just… thanks, alright?"

"There will be time for thanks later; we're almost there." Miranda glanced worriedly at her from the corner of her eye. There was a medi-gel station near the evac shuttles if she could just get there. She typed in her key code on a console with difficulty, giving her access to the restricted corridors—the final leg of the journey. They'd been accessible to only top facility personnel which left them devoid of both mechs and staff members.

It was in that silent hallway that she realized she was the only one breathing.

"Erzsebet!" She lowered the other woman down to the floor and placed an ear to her chest. The only heartbeat she could hear was her own, the blood pounding in her ears. "Erzsebet, we're not there yet!" She began chest compressions. "I can see the shuttle!" The lies slipped past her tongue unbidden, "It's right there! We'll get you help, just-" She bit her cheek and forced herself to calm down, pushing back the wetness springing up in her eyes. Erzsebet was right. She wasn't going to make it, and Shepard was more important. She composed her features and took a deep breath, resting her hand lightly on Erzsebet's cheek.

"I'm so sorry." She placed the other woman's hands over her chest and held them there for a moment, wishing, just once, that she had something to claim for herself other than her mistakes. Wishing that people like this engineer – no – like Erzsebet, this woman that she'd barely known, didn't have to pay for her oversights. She stood silently and continued down the hallway towards the shuttles, pistol clenched at her side, only one shot left before her gun overheated – but then that was all she needed.

Shepard had better be worth it.

ooo

I'd been down in the belly of the ship squeezing through the crawlspaces with my headset blaring when the alarms went off. At first it had just seemed like an inordinate amount of turbulence. I'd ignored it in favour of the reverberation from the clang of my wrench, and the slick feeling of machinery oil under my fingertips. Then the ship shook so hard I nearly concussed myself on the piping. There was going to be some bruising the next day for sure. My tags fell somewhere down into the bowels of the ship, the chain broken when it caught on some sharp edge in my hurry to get out.

By the time I'd pulled myself out of the crawl space the lower decks had been emptied, just a couple of my co-workers left. None alive. The power was out, the elevator wasn't working and the pods were gone.

But I could still get out.

Any ship mechanic worth their salt knew how to get between levels without using the damned elevator. But it also wouldn't be safe. I gingerly climbed up into the maintenance shaft, wincing every time another small explosion slammed me against the edges of the passage. But I could see the flickering orange light from the level above.

Which was bad actually.

Meant it was on fire.

My hands reached for the next rung, my muscles straining with the effort when suddenly a cap to my left blew off slamming into my nose.

It hurt. Oh god did it hurt.

But the boiling water that came after it hurt even more. I could smell the heat, and though I knew it to be untrue my skin felt as though it had withered and cracked. My fingers grappled at the ladder desperately – slick fingers squealing across the metal as they lost their grip on the rung – sending me crashing down to the lower level. Pain screamed in my side where I'd hit the supports on my way down, and I bought a hand up to gingerly touch the burned skin accidentally smearing mechanical grease across my already disfigured face. From where I had fallen I could see steam billowing out of the piping that bisected the path of the maintenance ladder. I needed a hard suit.

The requisition officer's stock was right where he'd left it, and I started strapping on the commander's old N7 hard suit. It was just light armour, but the N7 stuff was made to last, and I was going to need that if I was going to get out of here alive. An explosion sent me careening into a nearby wall, and as per my usual luck I went face first. A meaty crack sounded through my jaw and I tried desperately to not think about its origin. I didn't dare grit my teeth to assuage the pain. I tasted blood running down into the crease of my lips and resolved not to look in a mirror for at least a year.

I'd only just gotten the hard suit on. That I remember. I remember sealing the helmet and crawling back into the maintenance shaft – one hand over the other – I could still make it.

And then, well…and then I died.

Jacob didn't know what happened to the crew, or maybe he just didn't care. The Lazarus project only had one goal, he said, 'To bring you back." The rest of us just had to deal with it I guess. Not so hard when you're dead I suppose.

But they made a mistake.

How do you tell someone that they made a mistake of that magnitude? That two years and billions of dollars worth of credits and they brought back… what?

A mechanic.

And now I have to save the Galaxy.

That fire, that spark – I don't have that. The charisma, the sheer presence which inspired loyalty - I will never be that.

I am not Shepard, and for that I am so sorry.


End file.
